


The Space Between Us

by ayadn



Category: Let's Play (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Dating, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Romance, but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23368846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayadn/pseuds/ayadn
Summary: Sam is tired of longing and sick of heartache but Charles isn’t ready to love again. She doesn’t want to call it running away, lest she sound immature, but when her dad offers for her to come with him to London, she takes it. Meanwhile, Charles learns what it means when they say absence makes the heart grow fonder...previously titled Empty Space
Relationships: Charles Jones/Sam Young (Let's Play)
Comments: 130
Kudos: 222





	1. Chapter 1

She is enamoured by him.

Beyond the stoic face and icy glare there is a goodness within him that draws her in.

She can’t call it love, she doesn’t know what love is. All she knows is that there is a particular rhythm her heart makes when she is near him, a certain burn to her skin at his touches, and a peculiar chill down her spine when his voice graces her ears.

All together it’s so thrilling that being with him is quickly becoming the most anticipated moments of her days.

So when she sees him leaning on the frame of her office door, excitement bubbles in her chest as she shuts her laptop and stuffs it in her bag, walking towards him to stand by his side.

“Ready, Miss Young?”

“Yes.” She says, because despite not knowing where he’ll be bringing her tonight, she knows he’ll take care of her, wherever they may go.

Sitting in his passenger seat while she watches the familiar buildings blur has become normal routine.

Ever since he invited her to dinner those many weeks ago, they have been spending more of their time together. Under the guise of newfound friendship, he would take her to his favourite restaurants while she takes him to hers.

Though she should already think herself lucky to be able to share conversations over dinner, she can be honest in saying that she prefers the extended nights when he would bring her to test run escape rooms. They’ve proven that with Charles’ analytical mind, and her knowledge for developing games, they make the perfect team.

She wonders if perhaps she is becoming greedy, because she is no longer satisfied with their nights ending with him wishing her a goodnight with a smile on his face and his lips brushing against the back of her hand.

She wants him to stay.

She wants to invite him in so they could talk about anything and everything for hours and hours until the sun begins to peek through her blinds. And if she had been more daring, how she wishes he would come into her bedroom and lay with her under the comfort of her covers, her head on his chest and his arms around her as he keeps her safe and warm.

“A penny for your thoughts, Samara?” he says, breaking the silence that had started to grow uncomfortable.

She takes the moment to look at his face, still so astonished at how flawless he is with his aristocratic nose and his angular yet delicate jawline. Eyes roaming lower, she blushes at the fact that she has seen what lies under that shirt, _twice_. She lifts her gaze, catching him looking with a raised eyebrow.

“O-Oh!” she hopes the cold air from the AC vents cool her cheeks before they get any redder. “It’s nothing really, just wondering where you’re taking me.”

“The fencing club has no lessons today, so I thought I’d take this chance to sneak you in. Teach you a few basics.” He takes a glance at her again, smirking at her confused and slightly panicked expression.

.

.

She feels too self-conscious to step out of her room in black skin tight leggings and a white tank top, knowing Charles is waiting for her on the couch. She would have felt more comfortable if she had her cardigan on, but the only one long enough to cover past her bottom was draped right where he was sitting.

Her movements are stiff when she steps into her living room, trembling arms hugging her torso like a makeshift shawl.

The way his eyes trail across her body makes her aware of every exposed inch of her skin. Feeling the goosebumps rise from her arms to the back of her neck.

He stands, and she takes a step back, eyes wide and mouth open in a silent gasp as his long strides bring him close, _closer_ , until she can feel his minty breath fan her cheeks.

There is something soft and thick on her shoulders and she looks down to see he has wrapped her cardigan around her.

She is about to thank him when they hear the rushed clacking of nails on hardwood, Bowser wedging himself between them and rolling on his back to expose his belly for Charles to rub.

“I’m starting to get jealous,” she says, slipping her arms into her sleeves. “I think he likes you more than me.”

His mouth parts to form an answer, but Bowser yips, demanding his undivided attention and Sam laughs at the fact that her dog is becoming quite the formidable rival.

She finishes getting ready, placing essential items into a small duffel bag, and waits for him to finish spoiling her dog. Noticing her, he gives Bowser a final pat and stands to meet her by the door.

“Don’t be jealous, Samara, you’re still _my_ favourite.”

She punches him in the gut and he makes an exaggerated _‘oomphf!’_

“You’re getting too used to having me as a punching bag.” He mutters, hands bracing his side.

Rolling her eyes, she takes her fist back, rubbing lightly at her knuckles. Based on how hard his abdomen had felt, she doubts her punch was actually painful.

“It’s because you’re always teasing me!” she retorts, pushing him out of her door and telling him to go on ahead as she locks the door behind her.

She catches a glimpse of pink on her way down, the alpha female stopping her trek up the stairs.

“Kiddo!” she greets, “Where are you headed?”

“Charles is just going to teach me how to fence.”

“The hottie with an accent?” Ruby lips form into a mischievous smile as she raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Is it a date?”

“N-No! We’re just hanging out as friends!” she stammers.

“Aren’t you guys always going out? Like almost every night?”

“As _friends_.” She insists.

“Alright,” she chuckles, “whatever you say. But trust me, guys like him don’t like wasting their time. He’s totally into you.”

.

.

The fencing club was completely empty except for the two of them; each small movement creating an echo through the space.

After Charles taught her the rules and showed her the basics, they spend the rest of their time practicing the different fencing stances and types of attacks.

He commends her for being a quick learner, and despite the metallic smell of the mask and the humid air that is trapped within, she admits that she is enjoying it more than she thought she would. There is one particular stance, however, that she just can’t maintain the form of. The unnatural way it makes the body move was hard to remember, and she keeps getting confused between her left and right feet.

She hears him laugh before she feels the heat of his body hovering behind her.

Leaving her no time to protest, his hands are on her hips, pulling them flush against his. He runs his left hand up her back, resting them between her shoulder blades as he gently pushes her forward just enough to adjust the way she’s leaning.

“Good, now put your right leg forward.” She turns her head to the sound of his voice, the mask obstructing her periphery.

“Keep your head looking straight ahead, Samara. Never lose sight of your opponent.”

“But I can hardly see through this mesh in the first place.” She huffs.

“Focus, Bunty.” He moves his legs to the proper position, allowing Sam to use them as a guide as she shifts hers along his.

He snakes his left hand from her shoulders up to her wrist, gently encircling it with his fingers. “Make sure your wrist is nice and loose, and your hand is delicate.”

His other hand adjusts her hold on the sword. “Don’t hold it too high or too low, that’ll leave an opening for your opponent to attack.”

Satisfied with her stance, Charles brings his hands back to her hips, still firmly holding her against him.

She feels his breath on her nape as he inhales deeply. “You said you liked the smell of my cologne, but I must say, I am quite fond of your scent too, Samara.”

Immediately her form crumbles and Charles playfully scolds her.

She turns to face him, lightly slapping his upper arm. “It’s your fault! You were distracting me!”

He lets out an unrestrained laugh, its merry sound ringing louder in the empty room. “Easy there, Bunty, I’m only teasing.” he says, taking off her mask for her, and then doing the same with his own. “You did really well today, take a break. I’ll get us drinks from the vending machine out in the hall.”

Samara begins to undo her fencing jacket, her previous moment with Charles making her hot and flustered. A voice from behind makes her jump, stopping her ministrations on the jacket’s zipper.

“So you must be Charles’ new plaything huh?”

She turns to face the sound, and sees Marshall’s sister in full gear, arms crossed over her chest. “That man goes through women too quickly. He probably got bored of Rosewood and decided to play with a cute little mouse like you. A bit unusual though, since he usually goes for confident, hot women.” 

Sam tries to stand taller, immediately feeling ridiculous and shrinks back into herself.

“Ch-Charles and I aren’t involved like that. H-He’s my boss… a-and my friend.” she responds, hating the fact that she _did_ sound small and mousy.

Eva’s mouth opens in feigned surprise. “Hey wait a minute, aren’t you Samuel Young’s miracle baby?” she asks, despite already knowing who she was from the beginning. “That explains it. You’re not Charles’ type so I thought there must be something else about you.”

She steps closer, invading her personal space and smiling viciously. “Turns out you’re the CEO’s daughter. Hah! How sleazy of him!” She looks at Sam as if her stare alone could incinerate Sam’s entire existence. “I, of all people, should know that Charles always goes for what he wants.”

Sam holds her breath as Eva leans further. The heat behind her eyes threatening tears to fall.

“Eva, what are you doing here?”

She lets out a shaky breath at the sight of Charles, and Eva finally backs away from her.

“I have a key, too, you know.” Like a cat she saunters up to Charles, face shifting from feral to amorous. “You want a match? Show her how the pros play?” Eva nods her head in Sam’s direction and Charles’ gaze follows suit.

Eyes wide and brows raised he walks towards her, taking her chin in his fingers to tilt her face towards him.

“Samara, are you alright?” the worry in his voice almost makes her break.

She turns her head away from him, the hand on her chin falling. “I-I’m fine…just tired.”

She can see in the way his features don’t relax, that he doesn’t believe her, but he still finishes with unzipping her jacket and pushing it off her shoulders, making their shaking more apparent.

“I’m going to pass you up on that offer, Miss Lawson,” he says, “I’d like to take Samara home now.”

Eva scoffs and forces herself between them, placing a hand on his chest as she whispers into his ear, loud enough for Sam to hear.

“You should call me again sometime, I promise the only thing that’s going to get attached is my lips onto yours.”

Sam watches with bated breath, lungs tight as it begs for air, but she is unable to will her body to breathe. It takes everything in her not to fall apart, even when everything in her aches and screams and begs her to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh, here comes trouble.  
> P.S. Ya'll, I had to google fencing. And i still don't get it lol  
> 


	2. Chapter 2

There is still hope, but there is a lot more uncertainty.

She knows there is truth to what Eva had said; both her father and brother characterize Charles the same way. But there is no denying that there is something about the way he treats her, something special in the time they spend together, that makes it hard to believe anything other than what she sees for herself.

Yet, regardless of the way he makes her feel, there is nothing that ties them together apart from work and friendship.

Charles isn’t _hers_.

“Miss Young?”

Her gaze shifts from her mug to the man by her door. “Oh! How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to watch your coffee turn cold.” His brows are knitted in the same way they had been last night. She knows the question he’d been wanting to ask her since he saw her with Eva is hiding behind those worried eyes.

“Is everything alright? You haven’t come in yet for your self-love exercise.”

“Y-Yes!” she stands from her desk and follows him to his office. “I was just lost in thought.”

“Miss Young, I don’t know what Eva had said to you last night, but if you want to talk about it, I’m always here to listen.”

“It’s nothing, Charles. Fencing just got me really winded.” She knows he can tell she’s lying. But there is no way she was going to ask her boss about his past and present sexual activities.

Thankfully, he had the grace not to pry.

.

.

“Jones.”

Charles looks up to see a behemoth standing by his doorway. If it weren’t for their matching doe eyes, he wouldn’t believe that someone as delicate and precious as Samara came from such a man.

“Yes, Mr. Young?” bracing himself for the assortment of threats for getting too close with his daughter.

“The company is set to expand in London soon.” Samuel sits on the chair across his desk, the legs creaking at his mass. “It would be fitting to send you, having come from the UK, but as you know, I prefer being hands on, especially when I’m starting a new location.”

Samuel tosses a manila folder onto Charles’ desk.

“I will need someone to be in charge while I’m away. And although just the mere thought of you makes my blood boil, no one else would be perfect for the job.” Grinning, Samuel offers him his hand and Charles stands to take it. “Congratulations on the promotion, Jones.”

Samuel leans forward and gives him a glare Charles is sure he has reserved only for him. “Don’t get cocky though, I still hate you. And stay away from my daughter!”

Charles waits for the door to slam shut before he lets out a bitter laugh, wishing it were that easy to stay away.

.

.

They haven’t had dinner together in a week. And although her mind is laden with doubts, she still misses him.

She has never been the one to initiate, but looking at the Dungeons and Dragons themed escape room ad on her phone, she thinks now could be the perfect opportunity to start. Besides, it’s not like she’s asking him to do something they haven’t already done together.

Standing in the power pose and giving herself a little pep talk, she takes a deep breath and heads for his office.

“Charles?” she asks, knocking on the wooden door.

“Come in!”

She sees him packing up his things, getting ready to go.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he smiles in the way he always does; sly and sweet.

“She resists the urge to look down and pigeon her toes. “T-There’s this new Dungeons and Dragons escape room and I was wondering if you’d like to try it out? Tomorrow night?”

He stands still for a moment, with his back towards her, staring at his open briefcase so intently it’s as if the answer lies there.

She watches him shake his head and click his tongue, and immediately she regrets asking.

“I apologize Miss Young, I’m afraid I will need to take a rain check. I’ve already made an arrangement for tomorrow night.” He finally turns around to look at her, his expression unreadable.

“T-That’s fine! Some other time then.” She tries to give him a reassuring smile, hoping she didn’t make him uncomfortable with her offer.

“May I give you a ride home, at least?”

“No.” she says without hesitation. “There’re still busses running and I’ve already told you I didn’t mind taking the bus. So I’ll see you tomorrow!”

She rushes out of his office and into the hall, already thinking of which video game she’ll play tonight to help forget how awkward that had felt.

.

.

It’s the morning after they were supposed to go to the escape room, and the rain hits her bedroom window like tiny bullets. Lightning flashes through the room with thunder roaring after, and Bowser hides under the blankets, snuggling close to her side.

She’s pondering between taking a taxi and calling her dad when her cellphone rings. Surprised to see it was Charles calling, she answers immediately.

“Hello?” her voice still rough and throaty.

“Samara, I’m picking you up in an hour.”

“But-”

“No buts. This isn’t an offer. I’ll be there.”

She groans but complies anyway.

“Good, get ready. I’ll see you soon.” He chuckles.

She calls Ms. Whipple afterwards, knowing Bowser will need someone to be around with during the storm.

.

.

She was half expecting Charles to suggest another time for them to go to that escape room but apart from a good morning greeting, both of them had been quiet on the way to work.

They arrive 30 minutes later than usual, the rain and traffic making their commute longer.

Sam enters the elevator first, finding a corner to bend down and tie her boot laces.

In fear of the carpool crowd coming in and squishing her again, Charles stands a couple steps in front of her, providing a barrier should the elevator be filled.

As the doors slide to close, a manicured hand comes in between, making the doors reopen as she walks in with red bottom heels and a well-tailored power suit.

“Miss Rosewood.” Charles greets.

“Late morning Mr. Jones?” she replies, smiling up at him like there’s a secret between them. “I guess I worked you too hard last night.” She continues, seemingly unaware of her presence huddled in the corner. “But it’s not like you were complaining.”

She remembers what Eva had said, ‘ _he probably got bored of Rosewood”._ Clearly, Sam thought, he did not.

The elevator dings, indicating their floor, and Rosewood steps out first, leaving the two of them behind.

With her head down and her hands wringing the straps of her body bag, Sam follows but Charles stops her with a grab of her wrist.

“Samara,” he places a hand on her upper arm, and Sam gets chills at the thought that those very same hands were roaming another woman not even 24 hours ago. “I’m sorry you had to hear such an uncouth conversation.”

She knows Charles is single. He has every right to spend time with whoever he wants however he wants it, but she can’t escape this uneasy feeling that makes her skin crawl and stomach twist. Maybe it’s jealousy, maybe it’s insecurity, maybe it’s knowing that she will never be good enough for him to hold her in the way he holds them.

Whatever it is, it makes his touch so unbearable she finds herself shivering for reasons far different than how it used to be.

She takes a shaky breath and removes Charles’ hand from her arm. “It’s fine, Charles.” She says, turning away from him, pressing the button to open the doors that have closed them in. “Whatever you do with your personal life is up to you. Give me a moment to get settled and then I’ll come to your office for the exercise.”

She hopes the tears won’t fall until she gets to her office. She doesn’t need another reason to look so weak in front of him; to look so different from the women he’s used to.

.

.

It was after lunch time when her dad came into her office, a manila folder in hand. She knows it’s all for formalities; they had already talked about the details a few weeks back over dinner.

Ever since she had grown comfortable with her role as Charles’ assistant, she had been considering taking on more leadership responsibilities. And helping her dad build the London branch from the beginning would be a great learning opportunity for when she plans to develop and sell her own indie games.

Though this would be the best course to take for her career, she still has some reservations.

California holds everything she has ever loved and known. Moving to London would be so new and different –and although just the mere thought of it surrounds her with fear – there is that small part of her that thinks it could be exciting.

And perhaps it was coincidence or perhaps it was fate that she has put herself in such a mess, falling for a guy who will never look at her the way she wants him to (because who could ever? Even Link, one of her closest friends had been repulsed by her), but maybe moving to London is the refreshing change she needs.

She shuffles through the pile of documents, lip caught between her teeth and brows furrowed. Her pen is heavy in her hand, and as she signs her name in their designated spots, she wonders if she has really made the right decision.

.

.

The clock reads five and she gets ready to go. Her dad had gone straight home from an offsite meeting so she has no options left but to call the taxi or take the bus. Keeping her satchel close to her body she hunches, preparing for the cold rain as she steps out of the company doors.

Charles stops her before she could even get past the threshold.

“Don’t be ridiculous it’s pouring out, and since I picked you up this morning, you didn’t bring an umbrella.”

“I’m taking a taxi.” She says.

“That’s not very safe.”

She whips around to look at him. “Are you my dad? Am I supposed to be safer with you?”

Charles stands tall and crosses his arms in front of his chest, eyes hard and mouth set in a tight line. “You have been acting off since we went fencing. Where is all of this coming from, Samara?”

The last time he had been this stern with her was when she still worked in the cubicle. His stare is so intense that she cowers under it. “I-It’s nothing. Nothing for you to worry about.”

He steps closer and his eyes soften, hand raising to rest on her shoulder. “But I _am_ worried, Samara. I want to know.”

“Why? Because I’m your boss’ daughter?” Tears begin to brim her eyes, her next words barely spoken above a whisper. “That’s what this is all about isn’t it? Why else would you spend time with me if it weren’t to get closer to my dad?”

She pushes past him, heading for the door once again, but Charles grabs her wrist to hold her back.

“Samara, that’s not at all-”

“Let go!”

She knows she’s being dramatic, but her mind is so clouded with fear and uncertainty and hurt, that all she wants is to stay away from the source of it all.

“Allow me to give you a ride, Samara.” defeat in his voice. “There’s a thunderstorm and you’ll get sick.” He takes a step back and raises his hands in surrender. “We don’t even have to talk. You don’t even have to look at me. Just please, let me give you a ride. I just want to see you home safe.”

.

.

Despite sitting in complete silence the entire trip, Charles still drapes his jacket around her shoulders and walks her to her door.

“Samara, I said we didn’t have to talk, but just answer me this one question: Why are you so against me giving you rides?”

She shrugs off his jacket and hands it to him.

“Because you’re just like everybody else. You say I’m being treated like a child by all my friends and family, but here you are coddling me too.” She slides the key into her door knob. “How am I supposed to be independent when _even you_ treat me like glass?”

“Yes, but my reasons are different from theirs.” He says, eyes serious.

“And what reason is that, Charles? To get in my pants?” as soon as she said the words, her eyes widen, a hand covering her parted mouth. “I-I’m so sorry, I-I didn’t mean to say that!”

Her shaking hand finds the knob and twists it frantically, wanting nothing but to be in the safe confines of her home.

She is about to take a step forward but the way he calls her name makes her stop. She turns around to see the disappointment on his face.

“E-Eva told me,” she explains. “And I know what you did with Rosewood last night.”

“Samara, I’m sorry.”

“No, no. _I’m_ sorry. This is all my fault. This is what you were trying to tell me back then in your office right? When I stopped you?” She keeps going, afraid that if she stopped, she would run out of courage to speak to him ever again. “I’m really sorry, Charles. I shouldn’t have assumed there was something going on between us. I was just being delusional due to my inexperience and you just happened to be that one guy that gave me the slightest bit of attention.”

She steps further into her apartment, completely past the threshold now, and musters all she can to look up at him. “Charles, can we just go back to how we were back then? When you were _just_ my boss?” Her voice is meek and her eyes are wet with unshed tears. “P-Please,” she begs, “please Charles, I don’t think I could handle falling any deeper.”

The last thing she sees is that same unreadable expression, before she shuts her door and clicks the lock in place.

.

.

The doorbell rings twice, followed by three knocks on her door.

There is a large part of her that hopes it’s him, waiting for her to open the door so he could declare his love for her. But she knows that would never happen. Great love stories aren’t meant for girls like her.

So when she opens the door to Monica, she is disappointed but not surprised. 

“Oh honey, I overheard your conversation from the hall. I just want to apologize for giving you the wrong idea. I really did think he was in to you, I just didn’t realize he’d turn out to be so complicated.”

“It’s not your fault Monica,” she says, voice so small. “He never said anything, and I never asked. I-I just don’t know why none of them l-like me. Link doesn’t find me attractive, and I can’t even compare to the women Charles dates.”

Monica takes a tissue from the counter and wipes the tears that are beginning to fall. “Sweetie, you will meet many men. Most of which will break your heart because they’re stupid and they don’t know what’s good even when it’s right in front of them.”

She takes Sam’s shoulders and makes sure she is listening. “Regardless, you need to keep loving yourself because you’re young, and smart, and gorgeous, and you haven’t even had any work done!” She gives her a quick hug. “It may feel like it’s the end of the world. But it’s only like that if you let it be.”

.

.

Weeks pass and they fall back to some semblance of normalcy. True to his word, Charles no longer asks to give her rides, and apart from her self-love exercises that they still manage to do every morning out of sheer will and commitment to routine, they don’t really talk much outside of work related matters. It’s hard to lose a friend in such a way, but Sam thinks she needs this – to step out from all the drama and complicated feelings and try to work on herself.

She knocks lightly on Charles open door one day, and he calls for her to come in, not looking up from the files he was studying.

“Ch-Charles.”

At the sound of her voice he looks up, surprise written all over his face. “Miss Young.”

She steps closer to his desk but she doesn’t sit down, intent on making the interaction quick.

“Uhm, I haven’t told you because I wasn’t sure yet, a-and then things happened…” she trails off, eyes looking to the side as her trembling fingers gripped the crisp white envelope tighter. “A-Anyways, my dad offered me a position at the new branch and I took it.”

She hands the envelope, hastily pulling her hand back and clasping them in front of her. “T-This is my two weeks’ notice. I’m moving to London.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't mean for it to turn out so dramatic. As I was writing it I was like WTF?  
> But ya'll, chap 3 will be in Charles' POV and I am very excited :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're still in the angst zone, guys. There'll be a lot of pining before I self-indulge with all the tropes and fluff 😏

It was a fickle thing, this new feeling he has for Samara. He doesn’t understand it, or rather refuses to. Because love and commitment, they’re just fairy tales. A myth ingrained into the minds of the hopeful.

He had loved once. So much so that if she had asked to take his beating heart into his own hands and lay it at her feet he would’ve.

She was gorgeous and brilliant and he was entirely hers. She had his life in her hands and he praised her for it.

That was the kind of love he had to give, pure and devoted.

But now completely stained.

Love, no matter how much, wasn’t enough. Wasn’t enough to make her stay even when he begged her to, with his heart bleeding under her feet, because he loved her so much he could pretend that it never happened (but he could never forget) and they could continue on living in their quaint home in quiet tenderness and simplicity.

And yet, still she had left him.

.

.

Samara’s presence in his life is threatening. Because she brings with her a certain warmth so addictive it surpasses the most potent drug. And he is afraid that the day will come where he can no longer live without it.

When she asks him to join her for tomorrow evening, the immediate answer on his tongue is _yes_ but he holds it. He made plans with Rosewood for the sole reason of distancing himself from her. To choose her over Rosewood would be counter intuitive.

Which is why with a heavy heart he tells her _no_. Immediately regretting it as soon as he saw the disappointment in her face. He hates it when she’s anything but happy, hates it even more that he is the reason behind it. But he doesn’t know what will make him more of a villain; blowing her off or letting this…this _thing_ between them bloom. Too afraid to be certain of his feelings, he doesn’t want to give her hope for things he cannot promise.

And so this is how he finds himself in a too large bed beside a woman who is as cold as he is.

With Rosewood, it was easy. Sure she was conceited and demanding, but she abhorred commitment as much as he did, if not more. Like part of her namesake, she was a classic seductress. Red and vibrant, she catches the attention of everyone around her; but her thorns are many and sharp, a reminder to not get too close. And although her presence is striking, like roses that litter the streets on Valentine’s Day she is ordinary. Charles can find a woman like her without even looking.

But Samara, she is like the orchid that sits atop his desk. So soft and delicate, no one would notice unless they actually bothered to look in the corner of the room of where she hides. If it weren’t for his keen sense of perception, he too, would miss the beauty she confines within herself. He is both grateful for, and curses, the fact that he knows her the way he does.

He wakes to the pitter-patter of rain and an empty bed.

His first thought is the overwhelming loneliness he feels, but he quickly remembers the hurt brought upon losing someone, and convinces himself that being alone was the superior option.

When a particularly loud thunder shakes him from his thoughts, he picks up his phone and dials the only person he’d want to share his mornings – his afternoons, his evenings, his nights _(oh_ _how he would love to share his nights with her)._

Samara would need a ride to work.

.

.

The drive to her home is quiet, and the air around them is thick. He knows that whatever it is that Eva had said, along with what she heard from Rosewood this morning had provided an ultimatum for her to make a decision. The flick of the switch within her is almost audible.

When she stands by her door, eyes brimming with tears as she _begs_ him to keep his distance, he knows he’s lost her.

He watches the door shut and hears the lock click in place.

He doesn’t allow himself to feel the despair rising from the pit of his stomach, doesn’t let himself remember the familiar feeling of fear and regret. After all, this _is_ what he wanted. He brought this upon himself when he didn’t choose her; when he didn’t reach for her hand, pulling her close and never letting go.

But he tells himself all is how it should be, lies to himself that she is better off without him and he is better off without love.

He feels the need to dial Rosewood, or maybe even Eva, but can’t bring himself to even look at their names on his phone.

.

.

They glide through the weeks easily enough. The tension between them is palpable, but the expansion to London has kept them too busy to address the effects of the growing space between them. But even so, she is always on his mind.

Every morning when he wakes, he is struck with the desire for her to be by his side, to wake her with his kisses, to watch her lips form into a smile as she opens her eyes to the sight of him. And at night, when the toils of the day weighs heavy on his shoulders, how he wishes she would be there to cleanse it away, to have her presence soothe him to sleep.

He thinks he’s becoming a sucker for punishment, because despite knowing what it’s like to watch love crumble through his hands, he craves for it whenever he thinks of her.

He won’t let his thoughts run past that, however. It is a dangerous chain to follow. And should he have had reached a conclusion, it would have been too late anyways, she is leaving for London tomorrow evening.

.

.

She enters his office for the last time, holding a small box wrapped in gold paper and a tiny blue bow.

“I wanted to give this to you as a thanks for everything you have done for me,” she says, placing the box on his desk. “I-It’s nothing much, but I thought you could use it. And that it really suits you.”

He takes the box and carefully undoes its wrapping, revealing a gold and navy blue fountain pen. Engraved on its body it reads, _‘the pen is mightier than the sword,’_ an homage to the route he took in her game.

His eyes soften as he gives her an endearing smile. “This is very thoughtful, Miss Young. Thank you, I will treasure this greatly.”

She smiles back and it’s the first time since that night that he’s seen her so at ease.

He watches as she smooths down her skirt, widening her stance and placing her hands on her hips. The clothes she is wearing is simple, but they are stylish and kempt. The plain white shirt fits her perfectly, tight enough to outline the contours of her body but not so much that it clings to her like second skin. The canary yellow skirt she has on cinches at her waist and flares down loosely, stopping just below her knees. With the way she looks in front of him, Charles can’t help but think she is like spring personified, a breath of fresh air after a long and dreary winter.

“What do you love about yourself today, Miss Young?” though the words from his mouth are routine, he always asks with genuine curiosity.

“I love that I am willing to make this change in order to better myself and help me grow.” Seeing the determination in her eyes, it would be impossible to not let her go now. So all he can do is cherish this last moment with her before they both get engrossed in the responsibilities of their work.

He takes one last look at her, eyes scanning her face as if they were trying to immortalize the memory of her into his brain.

“I wish you all the best, Samara,” he says, face beaming with pride and adoration. “Regardless of where you may find yourself, I’m certain you will flourish.” 

He has absolute faith in her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Orchids are very sensitive. I've killed three of them. It still weighs my conscience down. RIP


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didnt know if i wanted yall to cry, or to feel in love, so i ended up failing at doing either :D
> 
> Anyways, in this chapter we fast forward through Samara's life in London.

She basks in the warmth of the sun on her skin. In the months she’s been living in London, she can count on her fingers the amount of times she’s felt the sunlight. London was very different from California. Its unfamiliarity and dreary weather only strengthening her need to go home and see her friends.

When she decided to move with her parents, she knew of the life she was leaving behind. Her friends had always been a comforting blanket, and like a child unable to sleep without her worn and tattered blankie, she yearns for them. But those friends were the very same people who encouraged her to take the next step in her life, understanding that this is what’s best for her career and more importantly, her growth as a person. And so instead of their regular hangouts at the Daily Grind, and their weekly raid nights, she settles for everyday text messages and waking up ridiculously early on Saturday mornings so she could still participate on their Friday night raids in California.

Bowser yips at the squirrel scurrying up a tree and she lets his leash go, letting him run after it. She finds a place to sit in a nearby park bench, waiting until Bowser gets tired of chasing and comes running back to her.

She tilts her head towards the sky. Like the sun shining down on her, its clear blue colour is a rarity. But every time she sees it she is reminded of the eyes of a certain someone she’d rather not think about. She doesn’t regret leaving, but there is always a part of her that wonders _what if?_

_What if he felt the same way?_

_What if he chose her instead?_

_What if she had stayed?_

Or

What if she was right all along to believe that he was never interested, and here she is over 5000 miles away, longing for someone who could never look at her the way she pines for him, because why would he when she could hardly compare to the likes of Diana Rosewood and Eva Lawson?

She stands as Bowser trots towards her, picking up his leash and walking towards the penthouse she shares with her parents.

She is used to the luxuries of life. After all, she grew up with a doting father who owned a multi-million dollar company. And although she never asked for much, he was always ready to hand her everything she wanted on a silver platter. But despite her upbringing, she preferred living simply in her cozy little apartment. Here in London though, her salary as an assistant in her father’s new company wasn’t enough for her to afford a flat in the city, so she makes do with living with them for now, at least until she is able to save up enough to move.

Living with her parents wasn’t entirely bad. Granted sometimes they make her feel like she’s a child again, they help ease her homesickness, making the transition from her life in Cali to her new life in London less daunting.

.

.

Every day as she walks to work she is amazed at how ancient architecture meets new. London still doesn’t feel like home, she doesn’t know if it ever will, but she loves the way the cobblestones feel beneath her feet, loves how the old buildings withstand time, carrying so much history it’s as if she is walking through a textbook.

Her heels clack on the granite tiles of her father’s company, stopping to greet the newly hired receptionist. He seems to be around his early twenties, but the freckles on his pale skin and his bright green eyes make him look younger.

“Good morning, Miss Young.” He says, his voice deep and thick with a British accent.

She stills for a moment, trying to calm the erratic beating of her heart with deep, slow breaths. She has not been called by that name in so long. No one other than _him_ addresses her as such.

“Please, call me Sam, no need for formalities.” She gives him a polite smile as she tries to contain the memories of blue eyes and kind smiles from surfacing.

She hangs her coat on the hook behind her door and pulls the documents she needs for their most recent project, looking over it one more time before finalizing the assignments for her team, then heads for the conference room where the meeting will be held.

The promotion to being the General Manager of the Development department had been a year and a half in the making. During that time, her father had placed her as the assistant of various mangers from different departments, allowing her to experience the work and responsibilities each of them had to offer.

The managers she had worked under had high expectations of her. Unlike with Charles, there were no morning exercises, no promises of not letting anything bad happen to her, and no personal guidance for the sole sake of helping her grow.

There were many times Sam wanted to quit, especially on nights before meeting clients on her own, but she persevered, taking each hardship as a stepping stone to achieving her dream of being a game developer.

For every fear she stumbled on, for every failure she encountered, she worked against with diligence, showing her father and her managers that it was her merit, rather than her connection to the CEO that got her the promotion.

She is closer to where she wants to be now, but still there is something at the back of her mind that insists she will never be happy. Not when _he_ isn’t here.

She tells that voice to shut up because it was her decision that kept them apart and she won’t allow herself to regret it now. Not when she can finally stand on her own two feet, and in heels at that.

.

.

Two and a half years have passed since they moved to London. She had just gotten her own flat, her salary substantial enough for her to afford a place of her own. Though her place is much smaller than her parents penthouse, it reminds her of her old apartment; safe and cozy.

She looks at the mirror as she tucks her silk high neck halter top into a pair of well-tailored khaki dress pants, the soft brown material hugging her hips before falling straight down the rest of her legs. She slips on her wine coloured pumps, the same colour as her blouse, and looks herself over once more.

While she was living with her parents, her mom had basically dressed her every morning for work, so much so that she got used to wearing heels and properly fitted clothing. At first she hated it. The stares she got as she walked made her feel uncomfortable. But after her mom had pointed out that they were looks of admiration rather than scrutiny, she doesn’t mind it as much anymore. Of course she still prefers to wear matching sweats and fuzzy slippers, but now she views the clothes she wears to work as an armour of professionalism. She feels like she can face anything her work throws at her when she is in them.

Taking her portable mug in one hand and giving Bowser a goodbye pat with the other, she leaves for work an hour earlier than usual. There’s a presentation this afternoon and she needs ample time to get ready before she is swept away with her responsibilities at work.

Though presentations are no longer new to her, she still never really got over her fear of public speaking. But now she has ways of keeping it at bay, one being coming to work ridiculously early to practice her presentation over and over until she can do it backwards.

The ticking of the clock seems to get louder as the minutes move closer to 5:00PM, her colleagues piling in and finding seats around the conference table. Even though she is well acquainted with the people she will be presenting to, the churning in her stomach only intensifies as one of the employees sets up the projector, its image reflecting on the wall across from her. 

Despite knowing weeks prior that she will be speaking in front of both the London and California teams, no amount of practice can prepare her for who she is about to see.

With a final click of a button, there he is, with his golden hair and sapphire eyes, and she has to remind herself to breathe.

“Miss Young, how do you do?” the slight distortion from the speakers are unable to mask the velvet in his voice.

The years she’s spent building a dam around her emotions are all for naught as the walls disintegrate just with hearing those simple words from him. She finds herself drowning in her desire for him, so strong it’s as if they were back on her old door step, her heart hurting at how unattainable he felt despite him being mere inches away from her.

“Miss Young?” he breaks her from her thoughts and she clears her throat, giving him an amicable answer, falling into simple small talk.

Her father enters and closes the door, signalling for the start of her presentation.

Apart from a few stutters, she thinks it had gone remarkably well. It definitely helped that for the most part, she tried to ignore the gaze of his eyes from the projector across the room. Of course there was no way of telling whether he was actually looking directly at her, but the thought of it burned her skin nonetheless.

With the presentation over and everyone rushing to get home after staying at work for an extra hour, she can only hope that she made Charles proud of the woman she has become. Personal feelings aside, he had been her mentor back in California and she truly wanted him to see that all his efforts hadn’t gone to waste.

.

.

She is in the middle of finalizing a proposal when she hears the knock on her door. Without waiting for her response, the door opens, her dad barely fitting through the frame as he grins and clasps his hands in excitement.

“Pumpkin, I have an idea and I need your help.” He sits on one of the chairs across her desk and proceeds to explain his plans to expand his business.

The moment her father leaves her office she searches through her contacts until she finds his name and hopes he is still awake as she dials his number.

“Hello, Marshall?”


	5. Chapter 5

He tries to forget her, he really does. Because what good would it have done to want her by his side when it was his own reluctance and indecision that kept them apart? She doesn’t deserve what he put her through, and he doesn’t deserve her. And so he deems it best to cut the invisible string that keeps him anchored to her like a kite that obediently follows the pull of its owner, despite its wandering through the wind.

The first few days had been easy enough. His new role as the head of the California branch kept his mind occupied, but that had only worked for so long before the regret and loneliness crept its way back in. He had always known, from past heartache, that it’s the following weeks that would be the hardest. By then, enough time would have passed for him to have grown tired of the things that keep him busy, but not enough time to get used to the constant feeling of emptiness.

And true that statement proved to be when every night he finds himself awake in bed, wondering if she was safe and happy, or if she too, was losing sleep due to thoughts of him.

The weeks flow into months and the months flow into years and he has learned to live through life as if everything that exists serves as a reminder of her.

There is still that dull ache of yearning, but the need to see her is no longer visceral.

Not until that one morning at approximately 9:00AM when he finally _finally_ gets a good look at her after so many years.

.

.

While the rest of his team scurry out of the room, going back to their respective offices, Charles remains seated on his chair, taking a moment to admire the Samara he’d just seen.

It had been 2 years, 5 months, 3 weeks, and 1 day since she left (not that he was _actively_ counting, he just happened to be a very observing person), and in those past years, he had hardly caught more than just glimpses of her. It wasn’t for a lack of trying. Every time they had meetings with the London team, his eyes would scan the screen, looking for any signs of her, but rarely was he lucky.

Today, however, there she was front and centre, his gaze transfixed on her from the second she appeared on the screen up until the line disconnected. He doesn’t know when he’ll be granted such an opportunity again, so he takes the moment as if it were godsent.

He recalls the way she was able to captivate the attention of everyone around her as she spoke with so much eloquence and knowledge, so different from the time she could barely look at him in the eyes, needing his fingers to raise her chin for her.

To say that he’s proud of what she has become is an understatement. The swelling in his chest goes beyond pride, beyond affection,

and lands right at love.

Ask him when he fell in love with her and he wouldn’t have an answer to give. Because with Gwen it was instantaneous, he can look back and pinpoint exactly when he saw her differently; exactly when the beating of his heart started to change its rhythm.

But with Samara it was gradual, the same way spring’s warmth slowly bleeds into the winter air until one day you realise it’s summer.

Until one day he realised he couldn’t go a day without thinking of her; without his heart aching for her.

Until one day he realised the familiar warmth in his chest was love.

He clicks his tongue and runs a hand through his hair, frustrated at the fact that he’s becoming such a lovesick fool. How could he, a divorcee whose heart had been so badly broken he needed to ice the pieces back together, fall in love again?

But the desire for her is so strong that he _lets_ himself fall. Against all reason, against all the promises he made himself, against every rational thought left in his brain, because to _not_ love her, hurts more.

.

.

He stops his trek to his office when he sees her picture on Umed’s computer screen. Peering behind him, Charles reads the article title:

**_Young Technologies heiress to develop company’s first PC game in partnership with ViewTube sensation Marshall Law_ **

It was only after reading Ben’s pen-name did he realize that he was in the photograph too. Sharing a love seat with Samara who was wearing an off-the-shoulder sweater and grey shorts while Ben was in a matching three piece suit.

Charles clears his throat, feeling awfully unnerved by how comfortable they looked with each other.

“Oh, hey man. Didn’t realise you were here.” Umed says, turning to look at him. “Looks like Sam’s making a game with Marshall.” Scrolling further down the article, “This must be what Mr. Young meant when he made that announcement a couple days back about expanding the breadth of his business. Pretty cool if you ask me – Sam finally gets to do what she’d always wanted.”

“This is going to be a massive financial risk.” He sighs, walking back to his office.

“Geez, wonder who put a stick up your ass?” Umed mutters, and Charles pretends not to hear. He doesn’t have time to discipline his staff right now, he has an article to read.

In the confines of his own office, Charles searches the article on Woogle, meticulously reading every sentence for any hints of how her life has been. The article mostly focused on Ben though, reporting his ViewTube credentials and his success within the gaming community.

But there is one sentence near the end that makes him feel uneasy:

_Marshall Law has moved to London in order to work closely beside CEO’s daughter Samara Young, saying he is very excited to spend time with her, doing something they both love._

Charles shuts his laptop and rests his head on a palm, taking a deep breath to calm down, and reminding himself that he is not the type to be illogical. Just because Ben will be living in London and working with Samara does not mean they’re dating. And that picture was clearly from a photoshoot, they were probably instructed to pose like that. Still, he knows that unless he gets a hold of her, he’d worry himself into insomnia.

Frantic, he paces around the room, taking out his phone to look for her contact. When he finds her name, he taps the dial button, hoping to whatever deity was out there that she answers.

He is met with seconds of silence and then: _we’re sorry, your call could not be completed. Please hang up and try your call again._

“Ah, shit.” He says to nobody. Of course Samara would have needed to change her carrier service upon moving to another country.

Thinking quickly, he opens his laptop again, looking for the directory that has all the Young Tech employees’ business information. He scrolls down the alphabetical list and finds her name near the bottom.

> **Young, Samara; General Manager, Development Dept.**
> 
> Email: samara.young@youngtechnologies.com
> 
> Phone: xxxxxxxxxx
> 
> Fax: xxxxxxxxxx

He hesitates, uncomfortable at the lack of professionalism he’s portraying by using her work number for personal matters. But he convinces himself that it was essential for him to know more about her partnership with Ben, to help him better manage the California branch, of course. After all, as the head of the main company, he needed to know exactly what was going on with their collaborators and pilot projects.

Heart beating erratically, he taps the number on his phone with shaky fingers. The ringing seems to last forever and he wonders what’s taking her so long to pick up. He takes a quick glance at his watch, realising that it’s nearly 7:30PM in London, way past office hours.

He is about to end the call when he hears her, voice still as sweet as ever.

“Hello, Sam Young speaking.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this so many times.... TT^TT  
> Also, ya'll, next chap makes me feel all giddy and I havent even written it yet muahahaha
> 
> Oops I didnt mean for this chapter to end the same way as the previous chapter did. But let's pretend it's intentional and im making parallels instead of it just being totally bad writing on my part :D


	6. Chapter 6

_He is about to end the call when he hears her, voice still as sweet as ever._

_“Hello, Sam Young speaking.”_

* * *

“Uh, yes, hi.” He grimaces at how much of a fool he sounds, as if he isn’t used to conversing with VIP business partners. Clearing his throat he tries again. “Miss Young.”

“O-oh! Charles?” there is a brief pause, and then, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I simply have some inquiries regarding the new venture, and I believe a congratulations is in order.” He sits back down on his chair, unable to contain the grin forming on his face. “Congratulations on achieving your dreams, Samara.”

“Thanks! But I wouldn’t have been able to do it if not for my dad putting trust in me, and for Marshall agreeing to be my partner. We’re only just beginning and he’s already been a tremendous help.”

His jaw clenches at the mention of his name, but he refrains from asking exactly the status of their relationship, not yet, lest he sound like a jealous boyfriend.

Instead he settles for a question he hopes doesn’t make him sound like he’s trying to pry. “Is Ben very involved in the process? Does he visit the office often?”

“Yeah, sometimes when I come in, he’s already there, having a meeting with our team.” She yawns and he remembers that it’s already evening there.

“Sorry, Miss Young, am I keeping you? It’s already late there isn’t it?”

“Oh no no, it’s fine. I’m used to staying in the office after hours since my responsibilities have doubled by taking on this gaming project.”

He is about to ask how she gets home at night when she adds, “This project is Marshall’s and my baby, and if I have to sacrifice sleep sometimes, then so be it.” she gives him a breathy laugh and the sound of it makes him smile wider. Though he is a bit annoyed that she refers to it as _their_ baby.

“I hope you are not too overwhelmed with work; are you eating properly at least?”

“Three meals a day.” She says.

He sifts through the questions he’d been always wanting to ask her and chooses the one he continuously worries about the most. “Are you getting home safe?”

She laughs again. “Are you _still_ worried about that? Yes, Charles, my flat’s only a 15 minute walk away from the company’s building.”

“You walk alone at night?” sound of disapproval evident in his voice.

“I’ve lived here for almost 3 years Charles, I can take care of myself.” She yawns again and he is really starting to feel bad for distracting her work. “Anyways, enough about me. You said you wanted to learn more about this project of ours?”

“Ah, yes.” He really doesn’t care about that or Ben anymore, just hearing her voice and knowing she was alright leaves him satisfied. But it was the excuse he used to call after all, so he might as well follow through with it. “Please give me a quick update, I wouldn’t want to interrupt your work any longer.”

“Young Tech doesn’t have history in making games, so naturally our employees aren’t necessarily geared for such a task, but I’ve hand selected people from our company who not only have the skills but also the passion to work on the team. We’re essentially a group of misfits and gamers. The game will most likely be an adventure puzzle game like Ruminate, but we’re making a lot of changes so it caters to a wide variety of people, and that they get their money’s worth for it. We don’t have an estimated release date yet but I’m thinking maybe a year to two?” she hums, and Charles can almost picture her with a slight pout and her finger on her chin as she thinks of details she might have missed. “I think that’s the gist of it, any questions?”

He chuckles quietly. Of course there’s still so many questions he wants to ask her, so much that if they could, he would spend the rest of his day talking to her.

“Well, actually, there’s-”, he pauses, wondering if he would be able to accept her answer if it hadn’t been what he wanted to hear. “Ah, never mind, Miss Young. I’m just glad you’re doing alright. Take care and have a good night.”

“Yeah, you too, take care.” The tone of her voice drops, and she sounds despondent. “It was nice hearing from you.”

“Likewise, Samara.”

“Uhm…bye.”

“Good-bye.”

The slight static on the line remains present for a couple of seconds, indicating that neither of them had hung up yet, and then he hears the definitive click from her end, and just like that, their moment is over.

Charles decided not to ask about the status of her relationship with Ben. He is already content just by knowing that she seems to be safe and happy. But more so, he is afraid of her answer if Ben really was more than just her friend. So like Schrodinger’s cat, he leaves the question un-answered; though there is still a possibility that her and Ben are dating, he can hope in the possibility that they aren’t.

.

.

Summer is just beginning, and it has been 2 years, 11 months, and 5 days since she moved (again, he was most definitely not counting), when he received an email from Mister Young himself.

> **From** : samuel.young@youngtechnologies.com
> 
> **To:** charles.jones@youngtechnologies.com
> 
> **Subject:** Young Technologies Game Announcement Event
> 
> Jones,
> 
> As previously discussed, the team is nearly ready to officially announce the details of their game. We will be holding a small gala for our business partners and investors and I expect you to be there. It would be a great opportunity for you to network with our London staff and business colleagues. The gala will take place within the following weeks. More information and flight details are in the attached documents.
> 
> Lastly, I would like for you to give me a call at 9:00AM California time, tomorrow. There are further things I want to discuss with you as I plan my return to California.
> 
> Best,
> 
> Samuel
> 
> Samuel Young, CEO
> 
> Young Technologies
> 
> Tel: xxxxxxxxxx
> 
> Email: samuel.young@youngtechnologies.com

Charles rereads the message, unable to contain the smile on his face. He feels like a teenage girl at how giddy he feels but he doesn’t really care. All that matters is that he’ll be going to London in a couple of weeks, and he’ll be able to see her again.

He responds to Samuel’s email soon after skimming through the document files, scribbling down the time to call for tomorrow on his schedule, and already thinking about the things he’ll need to pack.

> **From** : charles.jones@youngtechnologies.com
> 
> **To:** samuel.young@youngtechnologies.com
> 
> **Subject:** RE: Young Technologies Game Announcement Event
> 
> Mister Young,
> 
> It would be my pleasure to attend.
> 
> I am looking forward to our conversation.
> 
> Regards,
> 
> Charles
> 
> Charles Jones, Director
> 
> Young Technologies
> 
> Tel: xxxxxxxxxx
> 
> Email: charles.jones@youngtechnologies.com

When he returns from his lunch break he is carrying 3 boxes of pastries, offering a piece to everybody he sees.

Umed eyes him skeptically, disturbed by the genuine smile plastered on his face.

“What’s this for?” he asks, picking up the one most lathered in chocolate. “You’re always so grumpy, what’s with the complete 180?”

“Am I not allowed to treat my exceptional staff once in a while?” he hands Umed another piece. “Take another one Umed, I am going to miss seeing that face of yours.”

Umed almost chokes on his mouthful and Charles laughs at the bewildered look on his face as he walks to the break room to place the leftovers for anybody who wants seconds.

.

.

He is reading a book he picked up from one of the airports’ many concession stalls while he waits for the plane to board.

The past few weeks had been the longest in his life. He doesn’t remember feeling this excited for a trip since he was a kid in the backseat of his parents’ car, waiting to arrive at their vacation destination after a long drive.

Although he is afraid of the uncertainty that comes with meeting her ( _will she still feel the same way about him? Did she fall in love with someone else? Is she dating Ben?_ ), the desire to be with her again, to simply see her and talk to her and touch her, trumps all his fears, at least for now.

“Visiting your love?”

He looks up to the sound of an English accent, to see an elderly lady who sits on the empty spot beside him. Her light grey hair is kept in a stylish loose bun, and her cashmere scarf wraps around her shoulder.

She reminds him a little of his grandmother; her bright green eyes and kind smile welcoming enough for him to engage in conversation.

“What makes you say?” he asks, slipping a finger in his book to keep the page as he turns his body to face her.

“You’ve been on the same page for 5 minutes, and based on how far you are in your book, I don’t think it’s because you’re illiterate. Plus you’ve been tapping your foot so much it’s making _my_ arthritis act up.” She gives him a knowing smirk and adds, “And I’ve been alive long enough to recognize that lovesick look on your face. Really, you look like a puppy that’s been left alone.”

He gives her a sheepish smile, “You’re correct in saying I will be coming to see her, but she and I are not together.”

“How come?”

“I’ve hurt her feelings before she left. I don’t think she’s very fond of me anymore.” He wonders why he’s sharing so much to this lady he’d just met. But perhaps she’ll be able to provide some helpful advice. Besides it’s not like he’ll ever see her again.

“Just have patience and perseverance, dear. If a fine man like you has been enticed by her, she must be someone really special.”

“She is.” His face relaxes at the thought of her, and the anticipation to see her again strengthens.

“Just make sure to respect her decision,” the lady adds. “There is no guarantee that she’ll choose you despite your dedication. To love you back is not her obligation; to be loved is a gift.”

He hears his flight number being called and bids the lady a safe trip. Being in business class, he is one of the first people on the queue. As the attendant checks the tickets of those in front of him, he looks at his watch.

Only less than 24 hours now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> but the email Samuel really wanted to send Charles was: dont fck my daughter, ho!
> 
> Okay real talk. Can ya'll let me know how you'll be able to cope if Charles and Sam dont end up together in the webtoon? I've been doing some overthinking and I honestly think I wont be able to handle it if they dont end up being endgame TT^TT
> 
> (But i think its important to note that my feelings for the Charm ship and my feelings for the webtoon itself are separate. Yes i would be devastated if Charm sinks, but it wont deter me from continuing to love Let's Play as a whole)


End file.
